


Gabriel

by apeirophobia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Motherhood, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:10:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apeirophobia/pseuds/apeirophobia





	Gabriel

there’s a delicate balance, between a stretched truth and a lie

like the shift of weight before a chair falls out from under you

before vague rumors become fact, and once things are more

white and black than gray you have to pick a side

you stayed in the hospital for five days and eleven hours

but the memory’s so distant and muted

you might as well deny it ever happened

 

as long as the chair stays at an ill-advised angle, your white lie can be your own version of fact

you stayed in the hospital for 131 hours, you were in surgery for eight and half

you always thought white lies weren’t supposed to hurt people

doctors aren’t supposed to either (or, at least, that’s what you always thought)

maybe, they don’t, maybe everyone else they fix, maybe you’re special

maybe, you’re just too broken

before all four legs crashed onto the floor

 

before your heart had to learn how to beat on its own again

(like learning to breathe, without air)

there’s a delicate balance, between love and hate

and you’ve been towing the line for the past three and a half years

honesty and sanity sit alone in the corner, collecting dust like an abandoned crib

sharp edges, colors, letters, and distinct truth have never really been your strong suit

 

on April 14th you woke up to the knowledge that you were dying

but you suppose, so did a lot of people

don’tletmedie     don’tlethimdie     pleaseletmebeagoodmother

the order doesn’t really matter, god only answers one in three prayers. TOD 8:17

 

sunken lungs and yellowed eyes (and so very loved, but you’ll never tell him,

never get the chance to) you were in the ICU for thirty-six hours,

he was in the NICU for twelve days

it’s some kind of irony that you have more days in your spring break than he had

in his entire life

 

you’re twenty-one, perfectly healthy save for the scar across your lower abdomen

(and the hole where your heart used to be)

you’re twenty-one, and last semester’s Psych text book weighed twice as much as his coffin did

 

if this is truth, than you want nothing of it

 

there’s a delicate balance between productive genius and just plain insanity

(and don’t say it, but it’s on the tip of your tongue)

relativity is everything. he’s dead and you’re...not (cold hard fact)

everything is relative. go to school, get a job, get _married_.

everything is pointless

 

do you have any children? wait. are you a _mother?_ (and it’s the distinction

that breaks your heart)

 

blonde hair and a 4.0 won’t bring him back. a brilliant smile, all the correct answers in the entire fucking world won’t bring him back 

and there’s no where to go but  _up_ (such a bright future, or so they say)

you’ve got more years of life than you know what to do with

don’tletmedie     don’tletmedie     don’tletmedie     (and you’d take it all back in a heartbeat)

 

four years ago you flatlined twice in twenty minutes and lost too much blood

four years ago

relativity gives things meaning. relativity is the difference between ‘what if’ and 

‘could have been’. _should_ have been _._ You really hate relativity.

 

He was going to have your eyes and Andrew’s taste in music. He was going to good at soccer (but sunburn easily) 

He was going to be named Gabriel. 

somewhere between ‘was supposed to be’ and ‘almost’, he was real, a fact. He _was_.

Your son’s name _was_ Gabriel.

For twelve days.

 

some things are more white and black than gray. some things never fade.

some things are forever. diamond rings. promises.

a mother’s love for her child.

guilt

 

Like the 3 lb 6 oz weight on your chest. 12 days, 36 hours, 4 years.

Ten little fingers and ten little toes.

You stayed in Greensville Hospital for five and half days when you were eighteen,

and in some ways you never left.


End file.
